


Oh, Baby, It's Cold Outside

by midnighhts



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Sweaters, Dear Evan Hansen Secret Santa, M/M, Very Mild Language, evan is oblivious :), mentioned: alana and jared, soft-ish connor??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnighhts/pseuds/midnighhts
Summary: Connor doesn't invite other people over and just lookedreally sincere, and he may have said he didn't have anyone to spend Christmas with.So here he is.(will be tagged later)





	Oh, Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vinnamon_Spice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinnamon_Spice/gifts).



> joyeuses fêtes tout le monde !!!!!❤️  
> this is my kind of late entry to the DEHSS that was supposed to be just 1.5k—2k words that ended up being this fuck fest lol
> 
> BUT NICE
> 
> the romance here isn't fully formed yet, but ya kno whats boutta go down owo  
> also sorry for the shit ending,, i don't know how to end fics  
> thay being said, i may continue this fic into a multichapter,,, who knows?

THE MURPHY'S ARE DECORATORS. Evan is a block away from their house, and he can already see the large Santa statue peeking from behind the old tree in their yard. Coming closer, the smaller lawn ornaments become much clearer against the thin blanket of snow. It's not like their neighbours aren't decked to the halls as well, but there's a difference between an inflatable Santa and some Christmas lights along the windows, and a complete Nativity scene lit up on their roof.

It must be Mrs Murphy's doing — or, at least, her idea. He'd seen her before at one of Zoe's recitals and that one time at the school fair, and this has her written all over it. It's nice, though, almost out of a television screen: manicured evergreen trees on their lawn, magically shovelled driveway, a warm glow from the inside. It's not something he's seen a lot of. Both he and Jared are Jewish, so the most Christmas-y they get is when they drink eggnog, leave a glass out for Santa overnight (which is code for being too lazy to clean up), and find it spoiled the next morning.

Some part of Evan feels sour, something nestled in the pit of his stomach that just wants to go back home and drink some hot chocolate while watching a cheesy Christmas film. But something else is keeping him rooted to where he stands as he stares at the large, two-door front entrance.

It's just. . . Connor looked really sincere when he invited him. And it's not like he can say no, because Connor is his friend now and Jared gave him a look that was like “Dang, Hansen, you're breaking hearts,” and he can't say no because Connor doesn't invite other people over and just looked  _ really sincere, _ and he may have said he didn't have anyone to spend Christmas with.

So here he is.

There's wreath hanging on the door, a giant one with a pretty, little bow. He had considered knocking, but with the wreath, it becomes harder to find a spot where he doesn't come in contact with the small leaves. There's a doorbell but doorbells are loud, and Mrs Murphy doesn't probably even know he's going to be there for a Christmas lunch, and what if Zoe answers the door? There's a fine line between just being anxious to visit a new house and being terrified enough to leave before any of the family members notice him.

Evan punches the doorbell with way too much force. Turns out the Murphy's are also  _ generic doorbell sound _ people. It's loud enough to be heard outside, but, y'know, fuck it. He's been getting more confident lately, and it's good not to let his anxiety rule his actions. He feels like a smiling emoji. He'll definitely tell Dr Sherman about it later.

...Except that his palms are sweaty from the pockets of his coat, so he wipes his hand over his pants, and as an added measure, wipes his sleeve against the doorbell, which— Fuck. The sounds echoes from inside, and really, God, how does he make it stop? He tries shushing it, but it does nothing.

The door swings open, and Evan freezes in his tracks.

Connor eyes him with disdain. “Evan Hansen, shut the  _ fuck _ up.”

Evan tucks his hands back into his pockets. All he does is offer a tentative smile as he wiggles his fingers. God, he'll be all sweaty again. He chuckles, “Sorry, sorry.”

Connor sighs. He places a hand over the side of his neck, and he may even look apologetic. He's wearing this red sweater that looks a little too small on him with his signature skinny black pants. Definitely not a  _ I Will Kill Everyone Who Talks To Me At School _ Connor, which is nice.

“Come in,” he says, and steps backwards. “Didn't think you'd be here.”

“You invited me,” Evan says light-hearted, but frowns to himself. He kicks off any remaining snow off his boots before entering; he needs to make a good impression and dirtying their house isn't going to help his case. He shimmies out of his coat and shoes in the same time it takes Connor to stammer, “Yeah, no, yeah.

“I meant,” Connor continues. He grabs Evan's coat, and throws it onto a stand. “I just… You're a early.”

Evan frowns — even more confused, this time. “Oh.”

“Nonono, uh…” Connor shrugs. “It's cool. To see you here.”

“Oh.”

It's nice to see Connor, too, especially since he looks human like this. The house is beautiful and just makes him look softer — albeit that it doesn't match his personality at all. And Connor looks like he isn't hiding a knife in his sleeves or in a weird sheath hidden in his boots, so that's good?

Evan clears his throat. “You don't have any knives on you, right?”

The look on Connor's face changes so quickly that Evan takes a step back because  _ Oops _ . He looks pissed again, signature Connor Murphy behind the school with his outrageous music. In a way, it's comforting — but something else in his gut says otherwise.

“Funny, Hansen.” He doesn't feel very funny. “Whatever. Come on, my mom will find you eventually.”

Connor gives him one last unreadable look before marching off. Evan picks up his pace and tries to follow suit.

The Murphy's are decorators, both inside and outside. The walls are lined with family photos (Mr and Mrs Murphy, a pre-puberty Connor and Zoe in braided pigtails) and red/green plastic poinsettias tucked behind the portraits. A thread of Christmas lights is woven through the stair railing, while the handrail is decorated with tinsel. In the air, there's the smell of cinnamon. A faint piano rendition of  _ All I Want For Christmas Is You _ is playing in the background.

Connor stops at an archway, and Evan bumps into him. He turns around, suddenly serious but much less pissed. “I'm sorry for subjecting you to this.”

Evan balks. “Wh-What?”

“Connor, who is that?” A woman's voice.

Connor breathes out harshly through his nose. Colour rushes to his cheeks. “Evan, I hope you still like me after this.”

Once again, Evan can barely stutter something out, before Connor turns around again. The red suits him.

“Please don't kill him, mom.”

Connor is pushed off to the side, and  _ Oh _ . That's Mrs Murphy. She shares much more resemblance to Zoe, but then she smiles really wide and her eyes do this weird crinkling thing. Evan's seen Connor smile once before, and he kinda felt like a voyeur then because that was the most carefree smile he's ever seen, and, gosh, Connor really does look like his mother.

“Hello! I'm Cynthia Murphy! You must be my son's friend.”

She offers her hand, which Evan takes gingerly. His hands feel clammy.

Cynthia is a nice-looking woman. Her eyes crease as she smiles, and she makes weird, little expressions between words as if trying to be the ever-cheery one. She's blonde unlike her kids. She's also shorter than both of them; Zoe comes up to Evan's height, Connor is taller than him, and Cynthia reaches his eye level.

“ _ Mom _ ,” Connor hisses out, embarrassed.

Deaf to her son's protests, she steps aside, and sweeps her arm towards the living room. “Please, come in.”

Evan lets himself be shepherded, though he doubts he had any other option otherwise. Mrs Murphy has her hand on his shoulder, and she squeezes him reassuringly (though not really). It feels distinctly childish, which is weird because Mrs Murphy is perfectly nice and probably likes him enough, so this weird babying is Just His Imagination. Still, it's nice. Mrs Murphy's hands are warm against Evan's thin sweater.

The living room is large and grand. That seems to be a theme with the Murphy's. They have their tree there, and a few musical instruments propped up next to the fireplace. There are sofas propped up to one side of the room, and. . . .

Oh. That's Zoe. She hasn't seen him yet, still buried into the gift-wrapped box in her hands.

Evan squirms.

“Has Connor been treating you well?” Mrs Murphy asks. She has her hand on his shoulder again.

Connor is surprisingly quiet.

“Uh--” Evan tries, but then Zoe goes, “Who's this?”

Mrs Murphy smiles. “Oh, Zoe, this is--”

“Evan Hansen,” Connor finishes. He brushes past his mother, shouldering Evan in the process. He stands tall in front of them both as if shielding. Zoe gives him a guarded look, frowning. From what Evan can see, Connor has the same expression. “He's my  _ friend _ .”

Zoe narrows her eyes. She stares at her brother for a second or two, before she turns to Evan. Connor— well, he probably didn't realise it, but he shifts, hiding Evan even more— which, thank you. His hands are sweaty again, so he's rubbing it against his pant leg like a freak, and his shirt is kinda weird and not Christmas-y, and the wind outside messed up his hair.

“I've seen you in the halls before,” Zoe says, smiling now. “Nice to meet you, Evan.”

Evan waves his hand. She knows him. Oh, my God.

“You two know each other?” Mrs Murphy asks. She walks to the the middle of the room. She's more of a commanding presence than he expected.

Zoe shrugs. “He's Alana's classmate.”

Ah. So she doesn't really know him. Figures.

At the mention of Alana, Mrs Murphy perks up. “Yes, I remember Alana. Oh, dear, why didn't you invite her, too?”

“She's spending her holidays in California,” Zoe answers, almost offhandedly. She does a little weird thing — and, no, Evan is not being weird because he notices this, because he just notices small stuff like this — where she twists her fingers but then smooths it out over her jeans, and then she's sitting up straight like she's psyching herself up.

Mrs Murphy nods, though her face falls a bit. “Well, invite her again over some time, okay?” She turns to Evan, and she smiles wide again. “You're always welcome, too, Evan.”

Connor murmurs something, drawing a glance from Zoe and a pinched expression from his mom. An array of emotions flicker over Mrs Murphy's face that hits way too close to home. Evan looks away, and focuses on his hands instead.

“So, Evan, how did you meet Connor?”

Evan looks up. Mrs Murphy is smiling but there's something behind her eyes. Zoe, far off, is on her phone. Evan swallows thickly.

“Mom,” Connor bemoans though he sounds less  _ Connor _ than usual. It's a drawn out, whiney sound. It's cute if you get past the scowl on his face.

Mrs Murphy smiles — a secret,  _ I'm not supposed to laugh at my kid's childish antics _ smile. “What? You used to bring your boy-friends here all the time.”

Connor spins around quickly. Colour dusts his cheeks. “She means boy friends. With a space.”

“Yeah,” Mrs Murphy adds, “because he was always too scared to talk to girls.”

Zoe snorts.

“ _ Mo-o-o-om _ .”

Connor pushes past Evan, and his footfalls are heavy as he runs through the halls. He climbs the stairs, then there's a distinct door closing. Evan stares with furrowed brows at the direction Connor went. While he didn't sound angry or do anything that would suggest so, it's still worrying to see him in such a state. Also, with Connor gone, Evan's stuck in a room with people he doesn't know on a holiday he doesn't celebrate.

Mrs Murphy chuckles, drawing Evan's attention. “Don't worry about him. We're only teasing. Do you want anything to eat? We have cookies shaped into a manger.”

There's the whole  _ No, Sorry, I'm Jewish  _ thing Evan has to deal with but he doesn't want to disappoint her. “I th-think I should check-ck on Connor.”

“Oh!” she says, and Evan's halfway to changing his mind because that was such a rude thing to say to Mrs Murphy, but then she nods. “Sure. It's just up the stairs. You'll know when you see it.”

“I'll bring him,” Zoe chimes in. She peels herself off the couch in a fluid motion. It's impressive, actually. Her sweater has a large Christmas wreath in front, with  **_Merry Christmas!_ ** emblazoned on top of it. Evan looks away before his staring becomes creepy.

Mrs Murphy nods. She walks over to a sofa, and pulls her phone out. “Thank you, Zoe.” She has a concentrated look on her face for a moment. “Be sure to grab that thing in your room. Also, your other things — your father will need them when he gets back.”

“Yes, mom,” she says in a monotone. She doesn't get a reply, so, instead, Zoe starts to walk.

Evan, again, is left to follow. There is so much happening in such a brief period in time that it's almost hard to keep track. One minute he's there, the next he's being swept up and around the house.

There are the pictures again: baby Zoe with bows in her hair, young Connor in a baseball shirt, Mr and Mrs Murphy in formal clothing and younger than they are now. Fake leaves, soft sounds of  _ Last Christmas _ . Tinsel on the stairs, lights on the railing.

Zoe stops at the bottom of the stairs. Quite abruptly, he might add. (What's with the Murphy siblings doing that?)

“How did you meet my brother?”

Evan swallows. “Uh, well, I m-met him in class.”

“He never goes to class.”

“He did that day.”

She gives him one look, and the distrust in her eyes feels sour in his mouth. She doesn't sneer at him, but he can see it happen. A mean look, a condescending look, a hurt look. Be  would rather not think about this right now. Her gaze lasts for only a few seconds before she looks away. She starts to walk upstairs.

“He signed—he signed my c-cast.”

She stops.

“And I kept seeing him in the library, and he—he talked to me.”

The expression she makes is unreadable, hardened and thinking. While the wariness is still there, she looks less on guard. Something twisted makes Evan want to continue talking and spew  _ anything _ for her to trust him, because that is the worst look anyone could give him, and it's not like he did anything to her— or, at least, he didn't think he did anything. Make it better, make it better. . . .

He keeps his mouth tightly shut.

She regards him for a few more seconds. “Okay.” She nods. “I like you, and you have my blessing.” She continues up the stairs, and Evan, once again, is left to catch up.

He doesn't understand what she means, but he won't deny the good buzzing in his gut that feels like relief.

The second floor is not as decorated as the first floor, but there is still evidence of tinsel lying about. There are three rooms spaced far apart, and there is a linen closet by the stairs. One of the rooms has a different door, a darker accordion door unlike the white doors of the other two.

Zoe stops in front of the accordion door. The door is flimsy and only partly opaque. “This is him.”

Evan clenches his fists. Does he say thank you? Goodbye? Does he say nothing? He purses his lips, avoiding any eye contact at all and trying hard to remain unseen. How will he even enter Connor's room?

“Connor, Evan's shirtless!” Zoe shouts.

Evan looks up so quick, he nearly gives himself whiplash. He hopes he looks as bewildered as he feels because Zoe Murphy may have just killed him where he stands. “What?!”

Zoe grins up at him. “Just a little help.”

There is a commotion from inside the room. It's a distant sound, though it sounds like someone tripping over stuff. It's surprisingly soundproof for a door that isn't a real door. Zoe glances at it before looking back at Evan. She smiles, devilish.

“Go get 'em, tiger.” She waves a goodbye at him, before promptly walking away. “Merry Christmas.”

“I'm Jewish,” Evan murmurs, but Zoe's already disappeared into another room, and the rickety accordion door pulls back just in time. Evan doesn't jump in surprise or anything, not like he could because Connor jumps out and nearly collides with Evan. Both of them freeze. Thankfully none of them fall over.

“Oh, Hansen,” Connor says, peeling away. His dark hair really brings out the tint of his cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

Evan shuffles. He scratches along his nape, a movement borne of his anxiety. “Well, I'm not naked.”

Connor's grin is faint yet it reaches his eyes. “I can see.”

They smile at each other.

They look away.

Ah.

Connor shuffles, rubbing his hands together. “Well, uh, you wanna hang in my room until dinner?” he asks. He sounds quite confident, which is nice. Smiley Connor… real nice.

Evan shrugs, which is enough of an answer because Connor smiles, and walks back into his room. It should feel kinda weird walking into his bedroom; he doesn't even spend much time in Jared's bedroom, and they've known each other since elementary. It just feels nice. He closes the door behind him.

Connor's room is neater than expected — not pristine, but organised. He'd have expected a large poster of like. . . Pierce The Veil and other bands plastered randomly over his walls, or maybe even an inverted pentagram. (There are a lot of rumours.) Instead, it's plain. There are clothes about and an unmade bed, but for the most part, it's neat.

Connor sits on his bed. He looks small somehow. His leg bounces, but he doesn't seem to notice. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, you invited me,” Evan replies, though it isn't the answer Connor is looking for. “B-But I went to look for you. When-When you left.”

Connor's face twists, lips pursing, eyes trained to the floor. He doesn't look mad, so Evan's left with no basis to judge the look except for, like, assumptions.

Evan picks at his shirt. “I. . . I can go—”

“No!” Connor says, and Evan jumps. He raised his eyes in the same moment. He looks fierce, but then he blinks, and he looks away again. “Oh, I mean, it's cool. Unless you wanna hang with my mom and Zoe.”

“They're nice people,” Evan offers.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Of course they are.” He shrugs one shoulder. “But they're just so. . . _ festive _ .”

“Don't be an ass, Murphy.” Evan's not really sure why he said that, or why he thinks he  _ can _ say that, or why he said it with so much confidence — because as soon as it's out of his mouth, he's scrambling to find a way to say Sorry while finding a defence against Connor's anger.

. . . Except it doesn't come, despite Evan's anxiety. Instead, Connor looks surprised, then he grins. “Jesus, Hansen, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Evan flushes. “I—I didn't— I—”

Connor straight up laughs. “Come here, you asshole. I suddenly like you much, much more.”

“I'm not an asshole,” Evan grumbles, but follows anyway because smiling Connor is  _ really _ nice. He finds a spot next to Connor on the double bed — which is unmade, by the way, so he sits next to Connor, but really close because he doesn't want to sit on the bed because he's still dirty, so—so he'll sit on the blanket, but it's a tight fit because Connor is also sitting on most of the blanket, but they  _ do _ fit (Connor's just a giant), and Evan has his elbow resting on Connor's side. It just. . . Agh, it's so weird to be the only one moving, because Evan is looking for a comfortable position while Connor is just there, unmoving, not looking, tense as a wire.

He finally finds a good spot that fits both of them comfortably enough, but that means Evan's half draped over Connor.

“Is—Is this good?” Evan asks, though he kind of wants to move because it feels weird putting so much of his weight on Connor, but it's nice and warm. He shifts, his leg touching Connor's. He really does have longer legs.

Connor's voice cracks, “Why the hell are you so close?”

Evan turns his head. They're really close. “I don't want to sit there.” Which would mean he'd sit on Connor's pillows, too, and he never liked it when Jared did that, but he always let it pass.

Connor reddens heavily. He stares straight at the wall on the other side of the room, and he has a white-knuckled grip on his pants. This definitely isn't regular,  _ I'll Kick Your Ass _ Connor. But, being this close, Evan can see the blue in his eyes, or like the little wave in his lips.

“Jesus, Evan, you're gonna kill a man,” Connor says in a long, deep sigh, but it sounds like it's a good thing. He turns his head, and his pupils are blown. “You gotta have some mercy on me.”

Evan frowns, more confused than anything. Is he high, or something? Drunk, perhaps, but there wasn't anything potent laid out for Christmas dinner.

“Stop pouting,” Connor laughs.

“I'm not pouting.” He pouts.

There's a commotion in the distance as the garage door whirrs. Connor tenses under him but it's a different kind of tension this time 

It's hard to tell what kind of sympathy receiver Connor is, so Evan does what he knows works: he places his hand over Connor's. A year ago, he would never have stepped foot in the Murphy's house, much less in Connor Murphy's room,  _ much _ less holding his hand as friends do — but he's more confident now. He’s spoken to Zoe Murphy without passing out, he is chilling with  _ Connor Murphy  _ on his bed, he’s even called him an ass! This, he believes, he can at least do for a friend in need.

It works. Probably.

Connor relaxes under him. The tightness of his grip loosens, and he even turns his hand upwards to meet Evan's shaky hands. “Sorry,” he murmurs. If Evan weren't so close, he probably wouldn't even have heard it. “Larry’s here.”

Evan presses his fingers into the other's palm. “Who—Who’s Larry?”

“My dad,” he says with a shrug. “Probably has a cake with him.”

The word cake really catches Evan's attention, which is kinda bad because he's just a guest here, and the cake probably isn't even going to be for him, so essentially wanting it is bad — but it's been a while since he had a slice of anything, and in his lifted spirits, he's proud of his wanting. Some parts of him just really wants to ask what the flavour is, but he sees the blank expression on Connor's face, so he squashes away his thoughts.

“He’ll want to meet you,” Connor adds like a list.

Evan squeezes Connor's hand, and his skin tingles from the contact. “Or—Or—Or, we could maybe waithereorsomething.”

Connor grins, and though it doesn't really reach his eyes like it would've two minutes ago, he still looks like he's holding himself back from smiling too wild.

“Evan,” he says, almost chiding. He tugs on their interlinked hands, “are you suggesting we do something illegal?”

Evan wrinkles his nose. “This isn't actually illegal. You know that, right?”

“So?”

Connor runs his thumb over Evan's knuckles. It sends goosebumps running through his arms just because it's so ticklish. He'd have jerked back but Connor kinda has him trapped.

“Well, Evan, since you're now a delinquent—”

“Hardly,” he counters under his breath. As some sort of retribution, he tightens his fingers around Connor's, resting snugly.

“—what do you want to do while we hide from the festive monsters?”

Evan shrugs. “Uh. . . There's this thing. . . .” The rest of his sentence is mumbled.

“Evan,” Connor says, amused, “I can't understand you.”

He blushes. “Uh. . . Catsplayingwithdreidels.”

Without poking at his odd speaking habits, Connor just goes on. It's nice not to get his stuttering pointed out. “That sounds. . . fucking niche, but oddly amusing.”

“Here!” Evan squeaks, and he scooches even closer to Connor. He pulls out his phone from his pocket — and wow, his hand is being very sturdy today and not as slippery. It's an older phone but he has YouTube. “I have some good ones.”

And Connor lets him to show him his cat videos, curled up next at his side. It's nice. Really nice. Warm and all tingly. It's actually kind of. . . Romantic, ain't it? But Evan allows himself to be in the moment, even as Connor chooses a horror movie trailer. He was scared while watching (not helped by Connor laughing), but it isn't an anxious fear.

Evan rests his head on Connor's shoulder. “This is fun.”

Connor rests his head on Evan's, some stands of his dark hair falling on his face. “I guess so.”

“Asshole,” Evan laughs.

Connor squeezes his hand. “Merry Christmas, Evan.”

“Y-You, too.”

  
  



End file.
